


Unlikely

by SelkieLost



Category: Princess and the Frog (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieLost/pseuds/SelkieLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte has always wanted someone who will love her like the princes in fairytales. Now she has her prince, but her father is dead and the prince is cruel. She turns to an unlikely person for help. Slight AU in which the Mardi Gras wedding went through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to remedy the extreme lack of Charlotte/Facilier stories. It is a wonderful fandom, after all who can resist those lovely purple eyes?

Charlotte’s first memory is of tall, gaunt, serious-looking men in white coats swarming through her house. She is five years old, holding a worn teddy bear in one hand, the thumb of the other hand firmly in her mouth as she stares wide-eyed at the doctors who argue over how best to treat her mother. In the end it didn’t matter though. Mama died while Daddy cried over her withered hand. It is then, standing in the doorway of her parent’s room, watching Daddy cry like his heart is shattering into millions of pieces, that Charlotte decides that she wants this kind of love. She wants love that shines through her beloved’s eyes when he looks at her, like Daddy’s used to when he looked at Mama. The kind of love where two people fall irrevocably in love with each other at first sight, and one cannot live without the other from that moment on. Just like in the fairy tales Mama used to read her.

When Mama is buried, it takes a long time for Daddy to look at her without crying. It takes even longer for him to smile and laugh again, almost like he used to. Except the smile never _quite_ reaches his eyes anymore, and the laugh sounds just a little bit hollow. But when Daddy brings her a new toy, or her precious kitty, or commissions Tia’s Mama for a new princess dress, Charlotte can see him trying. Trying to give Charlotte enough love so that she won’t feel Mama’s absence like she does. Tia doesn’t understand this kind of love, doesn’t understand why Charlotte wants to marry a prince so bad. But Tia goes home to both parents every night, is enveloped by such selfless love every night and day, that she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have Daddy burst into heartbroken tears when he looks at you, because you remind him of your dead Mama. Charlotte knows that Tia won’t understand, so she doesn’t tell her. She remains Tia’s spoiled, crazy, rich friend and she tells herself that she’s okay with that.

When Charlotte meets her prince for the first time, she is disappointed. She doesn’t fall madly in love with him at first sight; in fact she finds his nasally snobbish tone irritating. Love doesn’t shine in his eyes when he looks at her; and when he leaves her in the evenings, he doesn’t look back longingly for one more moment with her. In fact, there is nothing romantic at all in their courtship, but he is a prince and maybe he will give her the love she needs. She plans out their Mardi Gras wedding, lavish enough to make a real princess pale at the cost, but doubt lurks in her mind and makes her heart hurt. Doubt that _maybe_ the prince is only after Daddy’s money and will never really love her, but she viciously shoves that doubt aside and throws herself into the planning. She wishes Tia would come visit, so they could talk and laugh, and maybe Tia could ease this painful doubt, but she hasn’t seen Tia since the masquerade ball, when that pair of slimy frogs had gone down the back of her dress.

____________________

Her wedding is beautiful, everything she ever wanted for her fairy-tale wedding. The prince, _her_ prince, seemed a little distracted, but that was to be expected. It was all perfect, just like she planned, except as soon as the words I do left her lips Daddy fell down and didn’t get up. “Daddy!” Her scream tore the night and everything stopped, music and laughter stopping as if someone had cut it off with a giant pair of scissors. The only sound was Daddy gasping for air and her own heart thundering like it was going to tear from her chest. “Daddy, Daddy, please be okay. Please Daddy.”  
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was her wedding. Everything was supposed to be perfect, except Daddy was lying there with an ashen face and wide eyes. She knelt beside him, cradled his head in her lap, and cried.  
“It’s okay, darlin’. I’m gonna go be with your Mama now. I’ve missed her so much…”  
Charlotte screams her sorrow to the night as her Daddy slips away. She’s crying so hard that she barely notices people pulling her away, carrying her off the float, and taking her home. Except it’s not home anymore, not without Daddy. She curls up in her fairy-tale wedding dress, on her fairy-tale bed, in her fairy-tale room and sobs herself to sleep. Her prince doesn’t come in to hold her, whisper _everything will be okay, my heart. I’m here_. She has never felt so alone and unloved in her life.

______________________

It takes days before she gets up from the bed and changes into more sedate clothing. It takes several more before she bathes and leaves the room. She hasn’t seen her prince since they were married and Daddy _don’t think about it_. She leaves her room, which seems stuffy and close now, and walks through her childhood home like a ghost. She hears her prince down the hall, in her father’s study. She creeps down the hall, peeks in through the keyhole like she used to do when she was a little girl. Naveen is smoking a cigar, his feet up on her father’s desk, a bottle of expensive champagne at his elbow. Something in Charlotte rebels and she flings the door open.  
“Just what do you think you are doing in here? This is my Daddy's office. You don't belong in here! Get _out_!” She screams. Naveen has the good grace to seem guilty, but it passes quickly, replaced by irritation.  
“I think you’ll find, my dear, that you are the one without the right to be here,” his nasally voice says. “You are no longer allowed in this room and the one adjoining it. Furthermore, I have taken over your dear, departed father’s finances and have put you on an allowance. Here is this week’s.” He takes out a ten-dollar bill and puts it on the desk. His expression says that she has been dismissed. She stiffly takes the money and leaves, tears dripping down her face. As her hand touches the doorknob, Naveen imparts another piece of information. “While you were indulging in hysterics I took the liberty of having your father buried, next to your mother in accordance with his will.”  
The tears flow faster and her hand clenches around the money in her hand. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain, instead opening the door and leaving quietly. Shock stops her from raging further. 

She leaves the house, which seems so much colder and subdued now, and goes to see her parents. Darkness is falling when she reaches the cemetery, when she kneels in front of Daddy’s fresh grave and Mama’s weathered tombstone. She cries openly in the empty graveyard, feeling her heart break. Her Daddy is dead and her prince turned out to be nothing more than a royal bastard. She looks up at the evening star, just barely visible, and pleads for things to go back to the way they were. To sit beside Daddy and eat Tia’s heavenly beignets just one more time. She still hasn’t seen Tia since the masquerade and that is just one more thing that drives home this whole surreal situation.  
Movement to her right makes her flinch away. She turns to see a lanky, roguish-looking black man in a top hat and burgundy coat watching her. Shadowman. She remembered Tia whispering the name in fear when they saw him walk by Tia’s workplace a few months ago. He looks gaunter than he had then, more careworn and tired. His shoulders are slumped and he leans upon his fancy cane like it is the only thing holding him up.  
“Shadowman,” Charlotte whispers, the fierce hope that made her wish upon a star so many times reignites in her breast. The Shadowman can do impossible things; make all your dreams come true, for a price.  
“Miss La Bouff,” he says, touching the brim of his hat. His voice is like silk and sin, and she doesn’t mind that he doesn’t call her missus. Charlotte stands, swaying, and suddenly the days of not eating and barely sleeping catch up to her, and darkness clouds her vision.

__________________________

Facilier watches the woman in front of him as she sways, and darts forward to catch her when her eyes roll back into her head and her knees give way. He lowers her carefully to the ground, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want this complication. All he wanted was ten minutes alone to feel sorry for himself. Ten minutes! Apparently that was too much time to take for himself. Shadow, almost invisible in the deepening twilight, coiled around his ankles like a cat, expressing worry about the situation.  
“I know, I know! It’s not like I planned for this!” Facilier grumbles. “Lawrence was supposed to be keeping her happy, tucked away in that mansion of hers.” Shadow slides over Miss La Bouff in a way that is almost obscene given the place and circumstances.  
“What the hell are you doing now?” Facilier is more irritated than anything else; Shadow has been acting more and more erratically since Facilier’s “friends” have taken over their lives. His shadow melds with a headstone so it can be level with him, transmitting thoughts in the indescribable way they communicate with each other.  
 _The girl is dying_ Shadow’s words have a hissing, static quality that signifies anger on its part. Facilier’s eyes narrow, and he looks carefully at the collapsed woman at his feet. He can’t see much in this light, but Shadow has never lied to him yet. He stoops, carefully picking Miss La Bouff up, and strides away to the cramped shop he calls home.

He’s laying out cards when she wakes up, not for any real purpose other than a way to pass the time. He hears her stir on the bed behind him and turns, a mug of cooling soup in one long fingered hand. She’s just sitting up, blinking confusedly at her surroundings. “Drink this, chere. It’ll do you good.” He holds the mug out to her and she takes it quietly, her sky-blue eyes not meeting his. As she sips from the mug Facilier looks her over. In the light of the multitude of candles he has burning he can see what Shadow meant. She looks washed out, gaunt, her eyes hollow and dead. No longer the vivacious girl who was the light and life of every party. He is shocked by the change in her, the hopelessness that radiates from her. His shadow moves on the wall behind her, Facilier can tell it is looking at him.  
 _Help her_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s the last chapter. I will probably come back to this at some point and revise it. There are things that I meant to do with this story that my brain just couldn’t figure out how to do at this point, but for now it’s finished. I hope you enjoy it!

_Help her_

Charlotte looks up from the half empty mug to find the Shadowman staring at her.  
“It’s rude to stare at a lady,” she snaps. Those brilliant violet eyes blink and look away from her.  
“I’m sorry _chere_ , I must admit to being just a bit curious as to what a married woman was doing in a graveyard at such an hour.”  
“Wishing she wasn’t married,” Charlotte mutters into the mug.  
“Why would that be?” The question itself is innocuous, but Charlotte can hear desperation behind it and she looks at the man sitting at her side, long and hard.  
“Why are you being kind to me?” she counters, wanting to know why she was seeing kindness when all anyone else saw was casual cruelty.  
“Because your pain is my fault.” She can tell that he doesn’t mean to say it; she sees it in the way his eyes widen and his face pales a shade. But by then rage has already built itself up and the mug has already been thrown at his head.

Facilier ducks in time to dodge the mug, which shatters somewhere behind him, but not fast enough to dodge the punch that Miss La Bouff swings at him. It’s clumsy and not well aimed, but her fist still manages to clip his cheekbone, sending sparks of pain through his face. He dodges the next wild swing and grabs her wrist as it passes too close to his nose. Her shriek of rage fills the small room as he spins her around, into a mockery of a lover’s embrace, her back pressed tight to his, her arms pinned across her chest. She doesn’t cease her struggling even then, squirming against him, letting out small grunts of effort. When she stomps her heeled boot into his foot, he is almost glad, because the friction of her struggles against him is starting to make blood rush southward, and the pain that arches through his foot helps distract him. Slightly.

_______________

“Miss La Bouff! Please, let me explain,” he says into her ear, and she won’t lie. The combination of his hot breathe on her ear and his sinful voice almost begging her to stop struggling did strange things to her stomach, like she had lava curling in the pit of her stomach. It was far too pleasant and she decided the best course of action was to ram her boot heel into his foot again. Hard. But the Shadowman only held her tighter. There was a roaring in her ears and black spots where starting to flicker across her vision as she gasps for breath. She sags slightly, her struggles weakening as the roaring grew louder.

____________

At first, Facilier thought she was faking, pretending to faint to get him to loosen his grip. But minutes passed and his arms began to ache from holding her slight weight up. “Miss La Bouff?” He could feel her heart thudding faintly against his forearm, alarmingly slow. He set her carefully down on his small bed and touched his fingers to her throat. Her pulse beat there, weak but steady. He breathed out a sigh of relief and caught himself. He couldn’t become attached to this spitfire, however much he wanted to. She had every reason to hate him, and the possibility was very real that he wouldn’t be around much longer if his _friends_ realize that he’s about to start unraveling the nightmare they’ve woven him into. He looked around at the splinters of mug and splashes of soup that now decorated the room and went to get a rag.  
He was almost done with the clean up when she stirred. Unfortunately this pulled his attention away from picking up ceramic slivers from the floor, and one slipped into his finger. Biting back a curse so as not to offended his lady guest, he rocks back on his heels and tried to work the sliver out of his finger. Miss La Bouff’s voice, colder now than it was before, startles him when she says, “You have to suck on it, to loosen the skin around it. Only way to get a splinter out.”  
He looks at her out of the corner of his eye as he follows her advice. Her face is shuttered, her eyes cold. He turns to face her, sitting down on a clean patch of floor, out of kicking range. “So you are responsible for my father dying? For my marrying Prince Naveen?” The way she is talking now remind him of a queen asking a disobedient subject his crimes before she beheads him. He nods, wondering at his sudden honesty. He learned a long time ago, nothing good comes from honesty. He takes his finger out of his mouth, trying to remove the sliver while he speaks so he won’t have to look at her.  
“I was in debt to some bad… people. I thought I’d finally figured out a way to pay them back in full. Naveen and his servant Lawrence fell right into my lap, and then I heard you talking about your prince. I disguised Lawrence as Naveen and turned Naveen into a frog. It was all so perfect, the two of you marry and everyone is happy. I should’ve known it would fall apart.”

________________

Charlotte watches the Shadowman, pulling at the splinter dejectedly as he told her of his marvelous plan and how it all fell apart. How Naveen had escaped, somehow turned Tiana into a frog, and how both of them had run off into the swamp. How his “friends on the other side” had gotten fed up with his constant failure and taken his body for a spin. How they had captured the frogs at the Mardi Gras parade and killed her father, ensuring Daddy’s fortunes would fall to their stooge. She started to feel… sorry for him, despite her best efforts to hate him. She sighs and rubs her forehead.  
“So how are you fixing this mess you’ve gotten us into?”  
Shadowman’s head jerks up, a mad hope mixed with desperation in his violet eyes.  
“Miss La Bouff…”  
She cuts him off. “Charlotte.” He looks confused. “My name is Charlotte. If we’ll be working together on this you may as well call me by my name.”  
“Charlotte,” he says, rolling her name in a way that makes heat rise in her face and pool in her stomach. “I am Facilier.” He sketches a half bow (he makes it look elegant, despite the awkwardness involved with sitting cross-legged on a floor and bowing) and when he looks back at her he is truly smiling, his eyes flashing like amethysts in the candlelight. She thinks his smile is true magic, because it pulls one from her for the first time since she said _I do_.  
They spend the rest of the evening talking over how to kick Lawrence out of her life, but as the night drags on they stray to other topics. Facilier gets up to make them both dinner and she realizes that she likes watching him, how every step he takes is precise. He hands a plate to her, and sits back down on the floor. Charlotte joins him on the floor (highly improper, yes, but nothing about this situation is proper) and they laugh as the world spins on toward morning. As they eat (she realizes this is the first time she has eaten for several days, ill-fated soup notwithstanding), she realizes that Facilier is still absentmindedly trying to pull the sliver from his finger, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the floor.  
“Stop that! You’re hurting yourself! You should have asked me to get it.” Charlotte scolds him, putting down her plate and grabbing his injured hand. She can see it, a tiny shard of white in his dark skin, sharp enough that it has cut the fingertips Facilier was using to try and pull it out.

_____________________

Facilier watches Charlotte bend over his hand, examining the wound. Her face is so close he can feel her breath caress his fingers. He closes his eyes to compose himself and misses her head dart down, drawing the finger into her mouth. She is quick; he’ll give her that. By the time he has recovered from the shock and thinks to pull away, she has already withdrawn, spitting the fragment into her palm, before inspecting his finger once more. Satisfied, she wraps the splinter in her handkerchief to be disposed of later. He reminds himself, firmly, that they are comrades, uneasy friends. He reminds himself of the harm he has done her, but that doesn’t stop the burn in his blood.  
“Done,” she declares, and all Facilier can think about is kissing her.  
He moves before he realizes it, her lips are soft against his and he steels himself for the slap and the beratement that will follow, but it never comes. He draws her closer to him and she comes willingly. His head is spinning as he cups her face in one hand and slants his lips over hers, sliding his tongue over her lips. He almost faints when she opens them, at the shock that jolts his spine when her tongue tentatively touches his. Everything about this is tentative, both worried that something they do will break whatever spell they are under.

___________________

Charlotte tangles her fingers in Facilier’s hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. The fact that she is married makes no difference to her, she cares more about this man she barely knows than the prince she married. Their tongues swirl around each other and she lets out a moan, mirrored by Facilier. He pulls her the rest of the way onto his lap, pulls her with him as he lays back on the rough wood floor. She can feel something hard on her belly, and he groans when she rubs against it, and rolls her hips experimentally. Facilier moans again, and deepens the kiss more, crushing her against him. His hands are tracing her sides, combing through her hair, touching her face, like he’s trying to touch her everywhere at once, like he’s trying to memorize her body, and the thought of that makes the heat in her stomach burn hotter, makes her gasp against his mouth. Her heart pounds in her chest, so strong she wonders if he can feel it.  
They break apart all too soon, both breathing heavily. His pupils are blown wide with lust, leaving just a thin band of violet around the edges. His hand comes up to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek softly. Her eyes close partway and she leans into the touch. She feels light, almost happy, for the first time since Mardi Gras. Facilier has done this for her. She smiles softly and leans down to kiss him again. This kiss is chaste compared to the last one, and when they break apart again, she finds herself wanting more.  
“What spell do you have me under now,” she murmurs as she attempts to roll off him. He wraps his arms around her waist and sits up, his expression serious. “No spell _chere_. Never on you.” She wonders what Tia would say if she saw them like this, and that brings the sobering reality back to her. She pulls away, heat rising in her face. “I should go,” she whispers, not looking at him. Ignoring the way her body cries out at the loss of his. She misses the look of sorrow that flashes through his eyes like a lightning strike.  
“I’ll take you home, _chere_.” His voice is soft, and so are his fingers as he wipes away the thin trails of blood his fingers have left on her face. It’s blacker than black outside, but Facilier holds her hand as he walks confidently through the inky darkness and she knows that he won’t let her fall or run smack into a lamp post. They are halfway to her home when she stops. Facilier feels the tug on his hand and stops as well, turning to face her with questioning eyes.  
“I never wanted a prince,” she says, braver in darkness than she will ever be in the light. “I just wanted the fairy tale, the happily-ever-after love. Mama and Daddy had it; you could see it in their eyes when they looked at each other. When Mama died, Daddy cried like he’d lost something so precious he could never hope to replace it. He couldn’t look at me without crying for a long time either, because I look like my Mama.” Facilier’s hand is warm in hers and she clings to it like a lifeline as she tells him the things that she has never told anyone. “That’s what I wanted. I wanted love so true that I would know I would never be able to live without it.”  
Warmth engulfs her when Facilier drops her hand and wraps his arms around her. She hugs him back, breathing in the mix of incense, smoke, fresh earth, and something uniquely him that make up his scent. “You’ll find it one day, _chere_. I just gotta fix the wrong I’ve done, and then you’ll be free to find it.” The rich sound of his voice wraps around her and she wants to say that she already has found it, that she’s holding it in her arms and doesn’t want to let it go, but the words stick in her throat because she knows that one kiss doesn’t mean anything outside of a children’s fairytale.  
They stand like that for a long time, and she can feel Facilier shake himself and pull away. She wants to cling to him, but she lets him go and tries not to show how much it hurts. Lawrence/Naveen is waiting for them when they get to the door, chest puffed up, prepared to act the indignant husband reprimanding the recalcitrant wife. He deflates immediately when he sees who she is with.  
“Open the door,” Charlotte demands, and there is no questioning about which door she is demanding be opened. Stella trots up and sniffs Facilier as they walk to the room, Lawrence/Naveen fumbling with keys. When they stop to unlock the door, Charlotte sees Facilier absentmindedly pet her dog’s head, sees Stella’s tail slowly start to wag. She sees Facilier’s shadow detach itself and scratch Stella’s ears. The dog’s tail wags faster and Charlotte smiles at the trio, finding herself wishing she’d met Facilier before all this mess. The lock clicks and she returns her attention to the matter at hand. The room is small and empty, save for a table standing at its center. A large, covered fish bowl holding two frogs sits on top of the table. Facilier mutters a few words, makes a few gestures with his long-fingered hands, and suddenly the real Prince Naveen and Tiana are standing (somewhat groggily) in front of them. A fat monkey-like man cowers in the corner. “Lawrence, I presume,” Charlotte says, staring at the quivering man. “If you do not leave my house within the next few seconds, I will call the police and tell them I caught a thief.” The speed at which Lawrence leaves is astounding for a man of his stature and size.  
After that, it is almost easy. The divorce of Miss Charlotte La Bouff and Prince Naveen shocks New Orleans, as does the prince’s almost immediate engagement to a waitress who has bought an old sugar mill. The gourmet restaurant she opens there shocks them even more, people crowding it every night to get a taste of her food. No one seems to mind the alligator in the band that plays there every night.  
Charlotte still thinks that the house is too empty, so she sells it and buys an apartment near Tia’s restaurant. The apartment is smaller than she is used to, but she decorates it lavishly and tastefully, making it her own. A maid comes in to cook and clean, but she is gone by lunch, leaving a meal for lunch in the refrigerator. Charlotte goes to Tiana’s Place for dinner every night. Tia and Naveen visit often, and in the spaces between talking and laughter, she can tell that they are worried about her. She tells them not to worry about her, that she is enjoying her downsized life. She certainly will never want for anything with her inheritance, but she can tell that they still worry.  
She hasn’t seen Facilier since that night, and it’s going on three months now. She wonders if she should go see him, but she always finds a reason not to. She misses him, which she knows is stupid because it was just one night and just one kiss. So when she is walking home from dinner one night, and she feels someone grab her arm, she is already swinging before she realizes that it’s him. He dodges it easily, favoring her with a wide gap-toothed smile, as he says, “We have to stop meeting like this, _chere_.” She flings her arms around his neck and kisses him without a second thought. They break apart when a passerby whistles at them, grinning madly and just a little out of breath.  
“C’mon sugah. I’ll show you where I’m living now.” She laces her fingers with his and leans against him as he walks beside her, and she thinks that she doesn’t mind that he’s not a prince from a fairy tale. She thinks that she just might be content with a witch doctor instead.

_____________________

They are eating dinner at Tiana’s Place one night, almost a year after her Daddy died, when Charlotte looks up and catches Facilier staring at her. His violet eyes shine in the candlelight, and she recognizes it from the way Daddy and Mama look at each other in old photographs when they were both young and happy and full of life. She recognizes it from the way Naveen and Tia look at each other. She recognizes it because it is the one thing she has wanted most in her whole life. Facilier looks at her like she holds his heart in her hands and her heart feels like it’s going to burst from her chest. She leans across the table, to the man that she can no longer live without, and kisses him. When he kisses her back, nothing else matters, because she is half of a whole and she has found the other part.


End file.
